


Older, Not Wiser

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-31
Updated: 2006-08-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Havoc was something Ethan preferred to wreak on other people.





	Older, Not Wiser

"Havoc," Ethan said, turning his glass around in his hand and looking into the amber depths for a moment before continuing, "is something I much prefer to wreak on other people." He waited for the man sitting across from him to agree with his statement; when it didn't happen, Ethan frowned. Surely he wasn't going to say that--

"Don't be so melodramatic. Nothing can go wrong." 

Oh, yes, he _was_ going to, after all. How unoriginal. Ethan's only reply for a moment was a short burst of laughter, harsh and nearly humorless. "I'd think you, of all people, would know how ridiculous that is, Thomas."

He wondered if Thomas even realized that he was rubbing the side of his face, where his scruffy beard was hiding the scar Eyghon had given him before they'd managed to kill it. "That was a long time ago."

"And we're older and wiser now?" He tilted his head slightly, studying Thomas's face. "Well, looking at you, no one would doubt that we're older, at least." He grinned as Thomas's expression darkened briefly. 

"You were talented then," Thomas began, although the hint of irritation in his voice didn't mesh well with the compliment. "You've had more than twenty years to develop the skill to match it." 

"Flattery? From you?" He chuckled. "Oh dear. You really _must_ be desperate."

"Would I even be talking to you otherwise?" Ethan had to admit that, unlikely as that was, Thomas was right. They'd never got on well, and while curiosity and a faint glimmer of nostalgia had got Ethan to agree to meet him here tonight, it hadn't taken long for him to remember why he'd disliked Thomas so much. "Diedre hangs up the moment she hears my voice--"

"Always did like her," Ethan murmured, not quite to himself. 

Thomas glared at him and kept talking. "And while I'm sure Philip would help if he could, he'd be worse than useless. Out of practice. That leaves Ripper--"

"The less said about him, the better," Ethan said sharply. Now it was Thomas's turn to grin, but Ethan ignored it. If Thomas genuinely believed he'd managed to get under his skin by the mere mention of someone Ethan hadn't thought about in at least fifteen years, he was every bit the idiot Ethan remembered him being. "He'd probably think it was his duty to stop you," Ethan went on, sneering a bit. "For your own good, or something equally sickening."

"To stop us, you mean." Thomas didn't give Ethan a chance to remind him that he hadn't agreed to anything; he got up, picking up his empty glass. "What you need is another drink," he said, walking to the bar with a faintly unsteady gait. 

Ethan let him go; the least Thomas owed him for making him listen to this tripe was a few drinks. If he'd cared at all about the state of Thomas's liver, he might have tried to stop him; Thomas hadn't been sober when Ethan got here, and he'd downed two glasses to Ethan's one, just now. 

Drink would have been enough explanation for how down-at-heel Thomas was looking these days, without the almost palpable aura of obsession coming off him. Really, Ethan thought, he knew Thomas had been fond of Randall--he supposed _someone_ had to be--but it was twenty years past time to move on. 

As for this plan of his to bring Randall back, Ethan was beginning to think Thomas had gone past "obsessed" and plunged headlong into "unhinged." Ethan didn't consider himself especially cautious, but he'd never seen any reason to waste time and effort on something where the best possible outcome was that the spell would fail altogether. Magic could do a great deal, but it really couldn't do much to repair violent death. And after twenty-odd years-- Ethan's lip curled as he considered exactly what might be left of Randall to resurrect. 

Thomas returned to the table, setting a glass down in front of Ethan. "Drink up," he said. "We should get started tonight." 

"I'm not helping you," Ethan said. "Quite apart from how pathetically stupid the idea is, you couldn't afford me." On the other hand, there were a few people--he'd call them professional rivals if they were any better than pathetic amateurs--who, in Ethan's opinion, _deserved_ this. "There are other sorcerers, of course. I could even give you a few names." It was more generosity than Thomas was really worth, but Ethan wasn't looking at it as helping Thomas as much as taking the opportunity to irritate someone he liked even less. 

Thomas gave him a scornful look. "I'm well aware of that," he said, and Ethan realized he hadn't thought to ask what Thomas had been doing with himself the past twenty years. "It has to be one of us." 

"The spell's that particular?" Ethan asked, curious in spite of himself. 

"What? No." Thomas drew in on himself slightly, his thin shoulders hunching. "Christ, Ethan, how would I explain it?"

"Tell them your boyfriend got himself killed twenty years ago, and you've finally gone mad enough to decide that we're _not_ better off without him after all." Ethan picked up his drink, taking a long swallow and not looking at Thomas. Thomas had never liked being told the truth, and this wasn't the sort of scene Ethan enjoyed making. "If you pay them enough, they won't care what happened." He'd give him Charlton's number. Charlton would whore out his own mother for a fiver, and Ethan had never quite forgiven him for outmaneuvering him to get his hands on an Egyptian talisman Ethan would have found very useful. 

"I can't pay them." That wasn't entirely unexpected, of course, and Ethan resolved to make certain he was the first to leave, just in case Thomas was planning to leave him with the drinks bill. 

"Then I don't know why you're wasting my time," Ethan said. "I'm hardly likely to help you out of the bonds of friendship, considering that I don't like you, and for that matter, I'm not the right person for this spell even if I did." When Thomas looked confused by that, he clarified, "Chaos is powerful, but--" But using Chaos magic to intervene in a directly helpful fashion was... tricky, to say the least. He was momentarily tempted to relent, just to see what would happen. "This is hardly my area of expertise," he finished smoothly. 

"Diedre won't help, Philip's so out of practice he'd be no help at all, and you said yourself it was no use talking to Ripper," Thomas repeated. "The spell needs two of us, and you're the only one left."

"Well, then, it seems you're going to be disappointed."

And as though this entire scheme hadn't been sufficient proof that Thomas was a complete fool, he blurted out, "What if it had been Ripper?"

If it had been Ripper, they'd all have been dead for twenty years, Ethan thought. Eyghon would have had far too much power to draw on. "If it had been Ripper," he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, "I'd have left him to rot and never given it a moment's thought. I suggest you try it." 

Thomas was still sitting hunched in his chair, but now he gulped down the last of his whisky and straightened up. "Did that coven in Wales ever find out what happened to those scrolls of theirs?"

It took Ethan a moment to even make the connection; that had been at least fifteen years ago. Still, the money he'd spent hiring someone to retrieve those scrolls from the coven's collection--not that the stupid women had known what they had--had been well spent. Apparently, letting Philip know about it had been a mistake, though, if he'd told Thomas. "As threats go, that's rather pathetic." It was, however, about what he should have expected from Thomas. 

Thomas shrugged. "Too long ago for the police to do anything, maybe, but I still think they'd like to know. Frightfully valuable stuff, I understand." He smirked. "They're not as powerful as you, of course, but there are more of them." 

That was possibly a valid point--just barely--but Ethan only raised an eyebrow. 

"I don't want to do it," Thomas said, which Ethan thought was probably true. "You aren't leaving me much choice, though."

"Add 'blackmail' to the list of things you aren't very good at, Thomas," he said lightly. "And be grateful I'm far too lazy to do anything to teach you a lesson about trying it on me." 

With that, he left; he'd had enough of Thomas's company to last him another few decades. Thomas would work out that Ethan wasn't intimidated by his feeble threats when Ethan didn't come back to help him with the spell.

He'd go ahead with it anyway, Ethan was certain. He'd find someone stupid enough to help him; there was no shortage of fools in the world. Perhaps, Ethan decided, he might want to make himself difficult to find for the next little while. He couldn't imagine that Randall would be any too pleased about being resurrected after all this time, and after tonight, Ethan had had enough of reminiscing with old friends. 

He could always spend the autumn somewhere warm. Somewhere in the Caribbean, perhaps; he'd always planned to go one day. 

Or possibly California. He'd heard a few rumors that, if they were true, might actually manage to make even America interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


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